A Man and His Smartphone
by visionsofmangos
Summary: Sam's new love interest is driving Dean crazy... An unconventional love story. Set around late season 2/early season 3.


_**A Man and His Smartphone: An Unconventional Love Story**_

Dean squirmed in his seat in the diner. He was becoming really uncomfortable. His little brother hadn't gaped and drooled like that since Jessica, and, well, it was just a little awkward to be sitting in the same room while his brother was so consumed with lust.

"Um, Sam?" Dean coughed.

"Hmm?" came Sam's mumbled reply.

"Uh, dude. Your… _food_ is here." No matter how creeped out by his brother's behavior, Dean couldn't let slide a chance to mock Sam's eating habits. He insistently maintained that salad was _not _food. Well, rabbit food, maybe, but…

"Oh, yeah. Right." Sam didn't even glance up as he reached for his plate.

"Dude," Dean complained. "Your obsession with that smartphone thingy is just _unhealthy_."

"Shut up," Sam snapped. "It's a beautiful form of technology. Just because you'd rather use that old clunker of a phone in your pocket—"

"It's a phone!" Dean practically shrieked. "Can that thing even call someone? It's all buttons and games, but nothing actually _useful_!"

Sam stiffened. "You will _not _insult my phone again, or I will defile your precious car. I am dead serious. Do you hear me? Now shut up and eat your food."

For the moment, Dean decided to give up and enjoy his cheeseburger in brooding silence.

* * *

><p>"All you do on that thing is play stupid games and surf the internet. It's not even useful!"<p>

"Dean, you said it yourself. It has internet. I can do research!"

"Great! Now you've got the power to be even _more _of a geek!" Dean threw his hands up in the air. "Bobby? A little help here?"

Bobby didn't approve of Sam's love affair with his smartphone, either.

"What kind of gadget is that, anyway? You idjits and your complicated technology…" he muttered under his breath.

But Sam, ever the stubborn one when it came to matters of the heart, still would not listen.

* * *

><p>"Dude!" Dean yelled, banging on the bathroom door. "What are you <em>doing <em>in there?"

Sam's muffled reply sounded something like "Angry Birds." Dean stuck his pinky in his ear and wiggled it around, sure he must have misheard. "Birds? I know this motel's crappy, but there's no way they've got friggin' birds in the bathroom."

"No, Dean, Angry Birds. It's this game – you chuck these fat little birds at stuff and blow it up, and—"

"Did I just hear you say you are playing a _game _in the bathroom?" Dean demanded. "I have to pee, man! Get off that stupid phone of yours and get out!"

Sam whined, "But, Dean—"

"GET OUT!" Dean bellowed.

* * *

><p>Dean returned from the gas station across the street, pushing open the door to his and Sam's room with his foot to avoid dropping the doughnuts, coffee, and other miscellaneous snacks he'd stacked in his hands. When he saw Sam sitting at the table with that frigging smartphone again, though, he lost it.<p>

"Sam! What do you think you're doing? I told you to do research!" Dean ranted. "I've been out all day interviewing the locals about the weird crap going on around here and staring at microfiche in the library – _microfiche_, Sam, I didn't even know that stuff still _existed_ – and I come back to find you playing that bird game on your iPod?"

"It's not an iPod, Dean, it's a smartphone," Sam explained, clearly exasperated. "And besides, I wasn't playing 'that bird game' – which, by the way, is called Angry Birds, which even your pea-sized brain should be able to remember. I was _researching_."

"How? How, Sammy? Because, God help me, I will flush that thing down the toilet—"

"Internet," Sam interrupted. "Internet. It's a smartphone. It has internet access."

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, for once not sure what to say. "I… well, okay. I'm not saying I approve, but… okay, that's a _little _useful."

"I know, right? And look at this – I can check the headlines, see if there's anything weird going on in, say, Oklahoma – and then there's this weather app, so I can decide what to wear tomorrow…"

Dean stared at his brother for a full minute.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Dude. You and that phone…" Dean shook his head. "You are one weird freak, Sasquatch."

* * *

><p>"All right, Sammy. Time to go," Dean said, breezing around the motel room to clear any signs of him and Sam having been there. "Henderson's on our trail again. Check the bathroom real quick, will you? Oh, and you gotta toss your phone."<p>

"Sure," Sam muttered absentmindedly, then: "WHAT?"

"Henderson," Dean repeated. "Bathroom. Phone."

"My smartphone?" Sam uttered in disbelief. "My baby? How could you ask me to do that?"

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Sam. We've got the FBI after us. Is now _really _the time to be clinging to meaningless possessions?"

"Shh, he doesn't mean it," Sam soothed his phone, cradling it to his ear.

"Sammy. Let's go," Dean snapped.

"But I—"

Dean grabbed the phone and crushed it under his foot, ignoring his brother's pained gasps. "You heard me. Let's go."

Sam mourned his beloved and wept bitterly. It was weeks before he would speak to Dean again, and he swore never to replace his smartphone as long as he lived.


End file.
